


Time Stands Still

by nurse13



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 06:16:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5529143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nurse13/pseuds/nurse13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for ‘Fête des Mousquetaires’- December- challenge ‘Frozen’. *~* <br/>Set some years after season 2, France is still at war with Spain, but Louis has ordered his elite-regiment back to Paris. *~*<br/>Captain Athos and his men are guarding the king and his family during the Christmas- celebrations, when something goes adrift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Stands Still

**Time Stands Still**

 

Athos had stopped counting the number of times he had let his eyes run over the room. From his position beside the royal family, he had a clear view and could easily see all of his men. He had stationed them at twenty-foot intervals, and each door was guarded by two musketeers, who eyed every incoming guest closely. He appreciated their attention, especially after the angry and sometimes threatening letters that the king had received in the last month.

One writer in particular seemed extremely upset with King Louis, for they had threatened to give him a very special Christmas present: the king would be freed from the burden of his family, just as the writer himself had been freed years ago. Minister Treville had taken the threat very seriously, so these days the royal family was never allowed to be alone.

Today so, there was the big annual party in the palace, to which most of the upper nobility was invited. The king had scoffed at the notion that just any crazy bumblebrain could possibly enter the celebration, and therefore denied to cancel the feast, so Athos was on edge. If someone really wanted to get to the king, they would surely find a way to accomplish it. The only thing they would need would be a very good reason, plenty of determination, and the acceptance of their almost certain death.

 

The Captain of the Musketeers looked over to the brothers whom he had detailed to protect the royal family.

Porthos was always on the near side of the king, his eyes critically surveying everyone who was approaching, while d’Artagnan and Aramis stuck to the queen’s and the dauphin’s side like flies glued to honey. Athos had been at odds with the thought of Aramis being so near to the queen and dauphin, but he had also known that there was no other choice. Nothing in the world, neither their brotherhood nor his duty, could have stopped the Spaniard from protecting the woman he loved and their son.

Noticing the proud smile on the medic’s face, Athos followed Aramis’ gaze. The dauphin, who was now almost six years old, was dressed similarly to the king, and together they were greeting the guests. But it was his behaviour that most likely was the reason for Aramis’ expression. Little Louis already showed every sign of the king he would one day become. Not as fickle and egocentric as his official father, but as affectionate and sincere as his real one.

With a suppressed sigh, Athos turned his head and allowed himself to be distracted for a tiny moment. Looking out of the window, a rare smile formed on his face as he watched the snowflakes dancing in the frosty afternoon air. The temperature had fallen rather quickly in the last few days, and during the night it had started to snow. And just as though someone had ordered the white finery for this year’s Christmas, now everything was covered with a clean, white blanket.

 

*14AAA41*

 

Aramis saw Athos turn his head. Following his Captain’s movement, he watched the dancing snow outside and his smile broadened when he saw his brother’s somewhat relaxed face.

Since Athos had been made Captain, the former nobleman had become even more withdrawn. His position often forced him to stay behind and let his brothers go off by themselves, and each of them knew how much that was bothering him. Athos tried to treat his brothers just the same as the rest of his men, and although he was mostly successful, he sometimes failed - especially when one of them returned injured, and even more if it was their Gascon who had been wounded. Athos’ protectiveness towards their youngest had only grown with his appointment as Captain and d’Artagnan’s marriage, although he really tried to mask it.

 

When he heard a suppressed chuckle, the medic directed his attention back to his duty. He couldn’t stop himself from grinning at the sight that greeted him. Little Louis had become bored of his duties and had left his place at his father’s side to run around the pedestal, hiding behind the chairs. D’Artagnan was doing his best to follow him without disturbing his majesty, and his efforts made the dauphin giggle and the queen’s eyes appear bright with joy. Anne was partly hiding behind her fan and Aramis guessed that it had been her who had chuckled.

Concentrating again on little Louis and his personal musketeer, the Spaniard fought a twinge of envy that the Gascon spent more time with his son than he, due to his marriage to the dauphin’s governess. That fact stung Aramis from time to time, although on the other hand it was comforting. If he couldn’t be little Louis’ protector, d’Artagnan was surely the best alternative. Maybe, he had to admit, he was even better at it than he.

 

*14AAA41*

 

 

Porthos barely managed to suppress his annoyed groan when he saw the king’s expression. His majesty was frowning at his son, expecting the little boy to represent the monarchy instead of allowing him his freedom, his childhood.

Grown up in the court of miracles and forced to fight for survival right from the cradle, the burly musketeer could understand all too well that little Louis wanted to play, to have fun and not stand still and speak with strangers. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the little prince hiding behind his mother and d’Artagnan pretending not to find him.

Then he looked over to Aramis and saw the bittersweet smile on the medic’s face. Although his brother seemed to be coping well, he knew, as each of them knew, how difficult it was for Aramis to be so near to his son and yet so utterly out of reach.

 

With a sigh, Porthos returned his attention back to the king, who had stopped frowning and now was concentrating again on his guests. The burly musketeer let his eyes run over the approaching couples and allowed himself to relax a little bit. So far everything was fine, and there appeared to be no unknowns in the court so far.

 

*14AAA41*

 

D’Artagnan shook his head in amused despair.

Little Louis was a nimble, cheeky boy and he liked to play hide and seek. Whenever he had visited Constance while on duty, the dauphin had been running around the room or hiding somewhere. Soon the prince had become acquainted with the young musketeer’s presence, and when little Louis had become old enough, he had claimed d’Artagnan as his own musketeer. From then on it had always been his special duty to protect the boy, and sometimes it even felt as though he was guarding his little brother.

Following the little boy as quietly and inconspicuously as he could manage, he heard him giggling again. At least little Louis was staying on the pedestal and hadn’t yet started to run around the room. And then, suddenly, just as though the dauphin had heard his protector’s thoughts, the boy bolted from the pedestal and tried to vanish into the crowd. With a silent curse d’Artagnan jumped after him, grabbing the dauphin’s collar at the very last moment.

 

*14AAA41*

 

“Louis!”

The exclamation coming from the queen aroused Athos’ attention. Turning his head, he suppressed a curse when he saw the dauphin running down the few stairs. This was the one thing that wasn’t meant to happen: the little boy running around between all those people. D’Artagnan had better be quick at catching his protégé.

Noticing a sudden commotion at one of the doors out of the corner of his eye, the Captain spun around and watched the opposite side of the room instead. Concentrating on that, he observed Porthos shifting closer to the king and Aramis stepping in front of the queen. Suddenly he felt very tense and edgy, as though his instinct was warning him that something would soon happen.

A small, sharp squeak broke his concentration and he flinched, turning around once more and looking for the origin of the sound. Seeing d’Artagnan’s head coming up, a content smile on his face, a part of the tension left Athos’ body. The Gascon had obviously managed to catch the dauphin and had hauled him up, straight back in his mother’s arms. D’Artagnan then quickly rounded the pedestal, before he also put himself between the royals and the growing trouble opposite the thrones.

Now absolutely sure that his brothers would protect the royal family, Athos left his place and crossed the room, determined to find out what was going on. When he had almost reached the centre of the turmoil, the Captain heard the familiar sound of swords being drawn.

Suddenly there was a fight at the door: five men battling his musketeers, one of his men going down with a cry, clutching his thigh. Throwing himself into the skirmish, Athos managed to take out one of the aggressors immediately, before he joined his remaining men to fight against the other four.

“Get the royal family out of here!” the Captain shouted over his shoulder in direction of his brothers. “Now!”

 

*14AAA41*

 

D’Artagnan hesitated, but only for a mere moment. Although the urge to join his brother and his comrades in the fight was powerful, he couldn’t forget his duty. And his duty was to get the dauphin to safety. Quickly sharing glances with Aramis and Porthos, he discovered the same mix between worry and determination in their faces too. Athos was the best swordsman in France and he wasn’t fighting alone. He would be all right.

With a simultaneous nod the three musketeers leapt onto the pedestal and took care of their charges. Porthos simply grabbed the king’s arm, while Aramis -politely as always- gently offered his arm to the queen, and d’Artagnan hauled the prince up into his arms and simply jumped with him down to the ground, where he handed him over to Constance. His wife’s eyes were wide with fear, but nevertheless she stayed calm. She always kept her wits about her, even if thrown into dangerous situations, she was brave and he loved her only more for it.

Watching Aramis and Porthos leading the royal couple out the nearest exit, he ushered Constance to follow them. Covering her back, the Gascon slowly followed her, never taking an eye from the panicking crowd that was scurrying through the room. He was almost allowing himself to feel relieved, noticing that his wife and the prince had reached the others, when he suddenly heard an all-too-familiar noise. Stepping back into the room and vigilantly scanning the area, he quickly discovered the origin of the sound.

Near the wall to his left stood a woman, clutching a pistol in her shaking hand. But it was the determined, desperate look in her eyes that caused him real fear, the look of someone who had nothing to lose. Following the direction the gun barrel was pointing at, d’Artagnan gasped in shock. The woman was aiming straight for little Louis’ back and her finger was already pulling the trigger.

Not wasting a second the young musketeer simply acted and stepped into the line of fire.

 

*14AAA41*

 

“D’Artagnan, no!”

Aramis, who had stopped at the door to wait for his son and his brother and left Porthos to lead the royals further, shouted a warning. He pulled his pistol from his belt and in one swift motion aimed and fired at the woman holding the gun. His shot rang out almost simultaneously with the other, but he already knew he was too late.

And then the sickening thud of the ball burying itself in brotherly flesh froze him in place. The medic was rooted to his spot, unable to move, just by the mere thought of losing their youngest brother.

 

*14AAA41*

 

Breathing heavily, Athos nodded to the musketeers who had joined the fight shortly after he had taken the first assailant out. His men just had defeated the remaining two and bound their wrists, before dragging the two injured ones up and pulling them out of the room, not caring if they harmed them further. When the Captain heard the shout behind his back, he spun around, taking in the scene at the opposite side of the room.

The king and queen were gone, had disappeared through the door, presumably lead away by Porthos. Aramis was guarding the door, his pistol in his hand, aiming at someone and Constance was just a step away from the threshold, carrying the dauphin. But it was d’Artagnan whose deed caused an icy shiver to run down his spine.

“No,” he gasped, when he saw his beloved little brother stepping directly in front of a pistol, making himself into a protective shield for the dauphin.

Athos was running across the room, only a few steps left till he would reach d’Artagnan, when two shots rang out, the sound stopping him dead in his tracks. Helplessly, he was damned to watch the ball hit his youngest brother square in the chest.

And then the world froze.

 

*14AAA41*

 

Hearing Aramis shout, Porthos turned on his heels and hurried back to the door, forgetting about the king and queen. He had just reached it when the sound of two pistols being fired halted his steps. Seeing the scene through the door he realised immediately what d’Artagnan had done. He could see it in Aramis’ and Constance’s eyes.

“God, D’Artagnan,” he uttered, staring at the boy who wasn’t moving, and suddenly he felt somewhat frozen.

 

*14AAA41*

 

The world was frozen, time stood still.

Athos still couldn’t move, could only watch.

Watch d’Artagnan’s face, his eyes wide with shock and pain.

Watch the hole in the boy’s doublet, near the centre of his chest, knowing that the injury must be fatal.

Watch his other brothers, Aramis and Porthos, both seeming as numb as he was, both wearing an expression of pure terror identical to his own.

It was not only him, frozen and unable to move, but them as well. Suddenly he felt cold, like ice, like the warmth of life had been taken away from him. The cold was penetrating every fibre of his being, it was turning his heart into an ugly, icy object and freezing his soul.

If he only could move, rush over to where d’Artagnan still was standing, looking at him without really seeing.

 

*14AAA41*

 

“D’Artagnan!”

Constance’s desperate cry made time start moving again.

All too suddenly, Athos saw d’Artagnan gripping his chest and stumbling backwards, heard him emitting a gasp, before his eyes rolled upwards and he crumpled to the ground.

Finally the Captain was able to move again and he practically jumped the last steps over to his fallen brother. Dropping to his knees, he reached out for his Gascon, only briefly wondering about the missing blood. His hands were shaking badly, his fingers numb from the shock. Still he pressed them on d’Artagnan’s neck, inwardly begging God for his brother’s life. He couldn’t bear losing him, not now, not today.

When he felt nothing, he swallowed thickly, his despair threatening to overwhelm him. “No...” he uttered. “Please, God... no!”

 

“Athos!”

That was Aramis’ voice, Aramis’ presence at his side, Aramis gently pushing his still shaking hands away.

“Let me have a look,” the medic urged.

The Captain felt hands on his shoulders, supporting him, comforting him.

“Come on, Athos. Give way!” Porthos commanded, voice as hoarse as his own probably was. 

And Athos obeyed. He skidded a bit to the side and moved behind the Gascon’s head, allowing Aramis to kneel down near to d’Artagnan’s chest. But he never took his hands away from his little brother’s body. Although he had hardly any hope left, he needed the contact. He simply couldn’t let go.

 

Then there was the sound of rustling skirts, a sudden scent of perfume, and seconds later Constance dropped to the ground on d’Artagnan’s other side, grabbing one of his hands in hers and touching his face with the other.

“D’Artagnan, no... don’t leave me... please don’t go... I love you!”

The Gascon’s wife was sobbing openly, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her tear-stained gaze met Athos’ and the expression of fear in her eyes made him swallow thickly. He had sworn to her to protect him, way back when the four of them went to war, an oath that didn’t end for him with their return.

And now he had failed.

 

*14AAA41*

 

Aramis needed all his will, his self-control, to stop his hands from shaking. He saw Athos trembling besides him, heard Constance opposite him sobbing and pleading and felt Porthos’ anxious presence hovering behind him.

Taking a deep breath, the medic reached out and pressed his fingers carefully on his unconscious brother’s neck. First he felt nothing, so he moved his fingers just a little bit and there it was.

 

A pulse.

And it was strong and steady, the regularity surprising him.

His astonishment prompted the Spaniard to shake his head, and only when he heard several sharp intakes of air did he notice his mistake.

“No,” he hurried to say, “no, no. I’m sorry... He’s alive. D’Artagnan is alive.”

Only half listening to the noises of relief around him, Aramis inspected his brother’s upper body and eventually noticed the absence of blood. “There’s no blood,” he murmured when he started unbuttoning d’Artagnan’s doublet.

“What?” The single word was croaked by Athos, who had lifted his head and was now staring at him in disbelief.

“I can’t see any blood,” the medic repeated, finally done with the buttons and opening the leather coat.

Again he shook his head; the Gascon’s shirt still was as white as usual, no trace of blood, only the little black hole over the boy’s heart that indicated where the ball had hit him. “That is impossible,” Aramis murmured, grabbing the linen and simply tearing it apart.

The sight that greeted him, greeted all four of them, made everyone gasp in surprise.

 

*14AAA41*

 

A locket.

D’Artagnan was wearing a damn locket.

And most probably that had saved his life, for the ball had embedded itself right in the centre of the silvery trinket.

 

Carefully, Athos reached out for the damaged pendant and removed it from its place at his little brother’s chest. He gently pulled the chain over the boy’s head and took a closer look. The ball had deformed the locket, crushed its centre and formed some sharp edges.

When he suddenly had Constance’s open hand in his view, he looked up and then placed the trinket gently in her palm.

“I gave it to him just before the regiment left for the border,” she explained, still crying, her words slightly slurred. “I wanted him to carry something with him, to have me near him. At least, a part of me.”

When Athos cocked his head, an unspoken question in his eyes, she smiled through her tears. “It’s containing a strand of my hair.”

The Captain nodded and then concentrated again on his still unconscious little brother, who was being thoroughly checked over by their medic. Already a bruise was forming where the locket had been, indicating the force of the impact and suggesting that some of his ribs might be bruised as well. And in the centre of the bruise was a little scratch, oozing a bit of blood.

“Hadn’t it been for this locket,” Aramis began, folding his handkerchief and pressing it gently onto the wound, “he would be dead.”

“Lucky little bugger, our d’Artagnan is,” Porthos murmured.

“That’s no luck,” Aramis objected. “It’s a miracle.”

“It’s a gift,” Constance said, her voice grateful and pious. “My Christmas gift.”

“And mine,” Athos added, his low voice full of affection. “And I’m grateful for it.”

His unexpected statement stunned the others, and after a moment Constance reached out for his free hand, the locket pressing into both their palms, while Porthos squeezed his shoulder. And Aramis simply nodded, smiling.

 

*14AAA41*

 

It took another round of gentle prodding and shaking and calling from Aramis before d’Artagnan finally started to blink. Then his eyes flew open and he struggled to sit up, hissing and grimacing as the pain in his chest made itself known. His hand came up to touch the hurting spot but he was stopped by the medic.

“Easy, lad,” the Spaniard said, still applying pressure to the wound.

Confused, the Gascon looked around only to find his wife and his brothers at his side. “What’s happened?” he croaked, a bit breathless.

“You almost got yourself killed,” Athos told him from behind his back, his mouth directly beside his ear. His hands were supporting him, preventing him from falling backwards. “And you scared the hell out of all of us,” the Captain added, untypically frankly.

“You saved the dauphin’s life, I guess,” Aramis told him, a thankful glint in his eyes.

“Don’t do that again,” Porthos mumbled.

“Why am I not dead?” d’Artagnan asked a mere moment later, suddenly remembering the previous events and shuddering with the memory. He deliberately had put himself between a pistol and the dauphin, had felt the sudden, excruciating pain in his chest and had been sure he would die. But obviously he hadn’t.

“Because of my locket,” Constance said, showing him the damaged trinket.

Locking eyes with his wife, the Gascon saw the fear and grief she had experienced, still noticeable behind the relief and joy she now was feeling. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his words not only meant for her, but for his brothers as well.

“If you ever do a thing like that again, I’ll kill you myself,” Constance threatened, only half in jest.

“I can’t promise not to,” her husband retorted sincerely.

For a moment she stared at him, shocked, before she smiled hesitatingly. “I know,” she said, sadness and pride sounding equally in her voice. “I knew that when I married a musketeer.”

 

*14AAA41*

 

Several hours had passed, whilst Athos had reluctantly gone to report to the king, telling him that d’Artagnan was fine - well, almost, at least. He had informed his majesty and Minister Treville that the assailants had been either killed or arrested and that the men were confirmed to be hired by the woman with the gun. They had been paid generously to cause some trouble and to distract the musketeers’ attention.

 

Meanwhile, Aramis and Porthos had taken d’Artagnan and Constance back to the garrison, where the medic had given Constance a salve to treat the bruise and told his little brother to take it easy for awhile. After that, Porthos and Aramis had given the couple some privacy to celebrate d’Artagnan’s survival - and of course his heroic actions, that most likely would gain him the never-ending gratefulness of king and queen. And not only theirs...

“You know, d’Artagnan,” Aramis had begun, stopping at the threshold, “you know that I will never forget you did this. Never.”

“And you know,” the Gascon had retorted, “that I would do it again, if necessary. Any time.”

Blinking away the tears in his eyes, the medic had hugged his brother, gently, so gently, before they had finally left.

 

*14AAA41*

 

Now, Aramis and Porthos had come to the Captain’s office to share a bottle of Athos’ brandy.

Athos was sitting on his bed, whilst his brothers had grabbed the chairs and were sitting right in front of him. They passed the bottle around in silence as each man let the events of the day play out in his mind.

“I really thought the pup had died,” Porthos started to say. “I couldn’t move when I watched him being hit.”

“Me, too,” Aramis admitted. “The mere thought he might be dead nearly killed me.”

“I was frozen,” Athos said. “The time, the whole world, seemed frozen and I feared I’d never feel warm again.” He shuddered before he continued. “To be honest, I’m still freezing.”

Without speaking a word, Aramis and Porthos rose and sat down next to him. Another shiver run down Athos’ back and his friends moved even closer, embracing him, trying to warm him. But it wasn’t enough, their presence wasn’t enough.

Yes, he had seen d’Artagnan alive, had talked to him, had felt the warmth of his skin and yet... It wasn’t enough.

He never had been so near to losing the boy who had become his little brother, not even during the war. And he simply couldn’t stand the mere idea, it made his heart and his soul freeze.

_Frozen_... he thought. _I’d be frozen, turned into ice_...

 

*14AAA41*

 

When the door opened without warning, the three musketeers lifted their heads and rose as one at the sight of their visitor.

“D’Artagnan,” an astonished Aramis managed to greet their youngest brother. “You were meant to rest, to stay with Constance.”

“I will,” the Gascon retorted. “But first, I have something to do.”

He slowly crossed the room, wincing every now and then, and stopped right before Athos. “With your permission, Captain?” he asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

When Athos tilted his head in confusion, the young man closed the remaining distance and simply hugged him tightly.

First the former comte was stunned, shocked, frozen again, but then, eventually, he returned the hug. Putting his arms around d’Artagnan’s slim form and pulling him just a little bit closer, he felt his little brother’s heart beating against his chest and his breath flowing along his neck.

And finally, finally he felt warm again.

 

*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*

 

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. And much thanks to my beta ‘hawkster55’ for making this readable.

Any remaining grammar mistakes or vocabulary abuse are mine alone, for I’m still trying to remember all of my English lessons. ;)


End file.
